


Symptoms

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Withdrawal, in his scientific opinion, sucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symptoms

Two people feeling sick and only one bathroom made a terrible combination. His fingers shook against the sink as he heaved, shoulders shaking, the water running as though waiting for him to vomit, but only the nausea was present. His head was pounding, the small bathroom seeming to reverberate every single noise he made.

 

He doesn’t know what he’d give for a cigarette, but in that moment, it was a lot. Surely, Marie wouldn’t notice. He could get gum, mints, some sort of cologne to cover up the scent of sweet, blissful smoke.

 

He sounded so desperate and pathetic that he scoffed, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes.

 

Withdrawal, in his scientific opinion, sucked.

 

In his lab, most recently, one wouldn’t be able to tell if he was the pregnant party or if Marie was, what with both of them suddenly ingesting more sweets, being sick, irritable, and hungry. He hadn’t realized how much he depended on cigarettes to curb his appetite until, all of a sudden, they were gone.

 

That one night when he found himself inhaling three boxes of poptarts, one right after the other, sitting on the couch Marie dragged in seemingly forever ago, was not one he really wanted to repeat. Or relive. Or remember, really. It was particularly humiliating to have had the lights flicker on from Marie waddling into the room, her eyebrow raised at the sight of him kicking the empty boxes to the side, trying to clean his shirt of crumbs.

 

No, he really didn’t want that flashing through his brain, especially when the very thought of eating anything made his stomach flip, which, in turn, intensified his nausea. It was like he had morning sickness.

 

He’d heard of a Pseudocyesis, but he didn’t _believe_ he was pregnant. Unlike in most mammals, it wasn’t psychological in his case, but physical.

 

Save for the baby, of course. That much was all on Marie.

 

He just had all the symptoms, side-by-side, which was brought to his attention most clearly when he stumbled out of bed with her in the morning and neither of them could properly button their pants. Marie’s reassurance of “You look nice with some meat on your bones!” was not as kind as she likely believed.

 

He’d gained twelve pounds. He thinks it went straight to his hips. Or his ass. Marie, on the other hand, was filling out in every appealing place, getting some sort of “glow” that he read all women seemingly got when pregnant.

 

Marie already _had_ a damn glow. Her wavelength was golden. She had golden hair and a golden eye and sunkissed skin. How that was, somehow, intensified through her pregnancy, he boils down to the ingestion of her prenatal vitamins, which he composed himself.

 

And while Marie was glowing, he was dry-heaving into their sink, shirtless with his pants half zippered around his suddenly enormous behind, fingers shaking, sweating in his skin, with a mouth dry and in desperate need for toxic, toxic tobacco.

 

Why had he quit smoking, anyway? He could just sneak off outside, or something. Marie never complained, prior, of him tasting like an ashtray. So he wouldn’t be able to smoke in bed, anymore. Or around her. Or anywhere in her general vicinity. He could live with that. What he couldn’t deal with was the damn irritability that came with quitting, the lack of focus. He was a scientist. How was he supposed to maintain a cool, objective outlook if he was ready to tear everything in the vicinity to shreds for the sake of some damn nicotine?

 

He’d already tried the patch.

 

A load of hoopla, the patch.

 

The gum was somewhat more satisfying, but it tasted disgusting, and it didn’t bring anything into focus like a cigarette could. He sucked down a breath, bringing his hands under the freezing running water and splashing it on his face, swallowing hard.

 

“Stein?” Marie called, knocking on the door to their shared bathroom, and he groaned, his headache downright throbbing. He only grunted in acknowledgment, and even that made him feel like he was doing too much. “Stein, are you okay?”

 

No. He absolutely wasn’t. He felt ready to vomit and he had a headache and his damn pants wouldn’t fit and-

 

“Can I come in?”

 

He groaned. A part of him, the part starved for tobacco, the part that was most affected by anything in his life that was unbalanced, wanted to snap at her. He didn’t want her to come in, not when he was like that.

 

But, then again, Marie had been around him during worse. And they had to get ready for work. And it was too early in the morning but if he could handle Marie upchucking at 4 am in the morning, then she could handle him dry-heaving into their sink.

 

What was the phrase, again? “In sickness and health”?

 

It was fitting.

 

He grunted something which could only be translated as positive through Marie’s mind before she turned the handle to the bathroom and stepped in.

 

He took a moment to look over at her, each movement making the world fuzzy, especially without his glasses. When he took in the sight of her, he raised a brow.

 

She’d given up on her pants, it seemed, standing there in just her panties with her belly round under her stretchy tank top. He wanted to turn his head away from the sudden light that the door opening brought in, but if he focused on her, he could see her and Junior’s souls, and it placated him, a bit.

 

Because that was why he quit in the first place, and though being reminded of that didn’t make anything easier, it at least informed him that he wasn’t a fool. It was mammalian nature to try to look out for one’s offspring and mate, and he wasn’t above biology.

 

Slowly, Marie stepped forward, her expression concerned, before she brought one hand to his back, using the other to turn the water off. It was only a few seconds of warmth before he felt her activate her wavelength, her finger undoubtedly glowing gold as she rubbed between his shoulder-blades.

 

It was a good thing he was hunched, or she’d be uncomfortable trying to reach that high up. Regardless, he leaned into the touch, letting her healing nature filter through him. Her palm was soothing on the bare skin of his back and he let his head drop at the tender ministrations.

 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, coming in closer to him and bringing her other hand to his face, flicking his gray hair away from his forehead. He barely even hummed in acknowledgment, only grumbling something out which made Marie pat his cheek.

 

“You know, _I’m_ supposed to be the pregnant one, remember?” she asked, amusement seeping into her words, and he cracked an eye open, the nausea passing, the headache settling.

 

Marie Mjolnir: Professional Percocet. He wondered if he could infuse her wavelength into something and hold onto it whenever his head spun.

 

“Why did you let me do that, again?” he asked, and though his voice was tired, she still giggled.

 

“What, get me pregnant? There wasn’t much negotiation going on at the time.”

 

He didn’t reply, simply rolling his shoulders before he reached up to click his bolt back a few times, finding the world in more clarity than before.

 

He felt. . .better. Not good, but better. He’d tried to quit, before, but never had he lasted so long in the face of his, and he hates the term, addiction.

 

He could quit anytime.

 

So, he was. And the withdrawals were awful, disgusting, whole body shivers that left him lamenting his decisions early in the morning while he hunched over a sink and nearly threw up into it.

 

Marie’s tender soul flared up, her wavelength still going strong as she rubbed his shoulders, and he pushes his own soul against hers.

 

In that moment, with Marie’s hand on his back and her wavelength on his skin, with her soul and his soul and their baby’s soul all occupying the same space, and her giggle still echoing and his head screwed on the semi-right way on his shoulders, he at least remembered why he was trying so hard. 

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, nicotine withdrawal symptoms are strangely similar to the symptoms of pregnancy. Who knew?


End file.
